


If you wanna start a fight

by theleftboobgrabber



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Closeted Alec, Everyone hates Maryse and the Clave, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Lawyer Magnus, Light Bondage, Lydia and Alec are bros, Lydia's quest for better earplugs, M/M, Mafia AU, Mob boss Alec, Power Play, Secret Relationship, Smut, major character death isn't one of the boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6760645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleftboobgrabber/pseuds/theleftboobgrabber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec sits gracelessly on a big plastic chair. Cheap, but he doesn’t need much for tonight’s work. Torturing someone isn’t pretty -no need to drag fancy furniture around to an anonymous warehouse near the docks to proceed.</p><p>Efficiency. Alec does love that word. So simple, yet so few achieve it.</p><p>The three men sitting in front of him have all been divested of their clothes, tied down to their own ugly chairs. Alec frowns at that… as much as he is for efficiency, he hopes that he’s not sitting on year-old butt sweat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I got a tortured mind

The rain hits Alec hard when he exits the pub, the music and chatter inside drowned by the downpour in the street. He gets out his phone, damn touchscreen barely responding with all the water on it. Jace finally answered him.

**< < Shipment is late because of water damage on the boat. Eta +6h**

Fucking day, he thinks. First he has to bury one of his best mate, his family, and now a fucking storm? Could this day could be any worse? The thunder rumbling above him seems to challenge his very thoughts. Shit like this isn’t good for business.

He doesn’t bother answering the text. Jace might have been distraught earlier but he’s a big boy and contrary to some, he can deal with everything that comes his way, be it mother nature trying to fuck them over or zealous FBI agents sniffing around. His adoptive brother is the best sweet talker Alec knows and he won’t have too much problem to hold the dockers and custom officers on their payroll to wait for the boat a little longer. And if not, he’ll call for reinforcement.

Alec misses his days as a lower thug, when prancing around the street of New York in a hoodie under his leather jacket was as professional as he needed to get (outside of family reunions or Clave business). That had been the only good thing about being forced to begin at the bottom of the food chain even if he had been raised to wear the crown. His ego had been bruised, but his fists and quick thinking had done much, much more damage, earning him a reputation of his own, as _Alec_ and not a _Lightwood_ , and the right to come back to control the business with his parents. Though, now that he’s running half the Clave’s deals on the East Coast, there’s a fucking dress code that he needs to follow to the letter. Monkey Armani suit and all. It’s tailored for him but he forgot his umbrella at the cemetery, too upset to think of something so trivial as the possibility of getting wet later.

Now he is soaked through the bones, black suit and overcoat hanging off him and weighing a tonne, aimlessly walking around. He should get home, should get back to his family before catching a cold, before being spotted by someone and gunned down in Hell’s Kitchen like some fucking cliché.

He should be at DuMort Construction headquarters to kill that _fucking bitch_.

Tears mix up with the rain and it hides his weakness. Here at least he’s allowed to be that sentimental even if he’s a man. He sits on a bench. After all, he’s as wet as he can get now, no need to worry about his pants.

At the cemetery he had remained stoic, forbidden by the rules of appearance and fucking masculinity to cry his dead friend… not in front of Mrs. Herondale or his fucking parents at least. But inside he was cracking under the combined weight of Isabelle and Clary’s tears. Of his three-year-old niece’s sobbing and calls for her daddy, pounding her tiny fists on his legs, begging Alec to bring him back before her grandmother had scooped her up and carried her away. Alec wonders if regular folks funerals are this stiff or if it’s just crime family ones. What he would give to be a regular person sometimes.

Simon had been a nice dude, someone that shouldn’t have been in the business, someone that should have stuck to comic books and a promising MIT scholarship.

Instead the kid (everyone younger than Alec is a child to him) had met Clary when the two had been in diapers. Simon had grew up in the fringe of legality because of his affiliation to the Morgenstern family; until he had put his fledgling hacker skills to use for Jocelyn when she sold her husband to the wolves to gain an empire of her own. But the cops and their FBI buddies couldn’t prove anything, couldn’t put anyone behind bars. Simon had tasted blood and he had liked it. It was Alec’s understanding that Simon had reoriented his college plan to accommodate his new hobby. Crime.

Clary and Izzy had met at Jocelyn and Luke Garroway’s engagement party and decided that they would make the best of friends on the spot. Alec hadn’t been sold on the red head but she made Isabelle, and eventually Jace, happy. Simon had come with her, all big smiles and no sense of propriety that the upbringing Alec and the others had had instilled in them. It was… refreshing. Annoying most of the time, but refreshing. And Simon was one hell of a hacker, helping around like he was born to do so, erasing everything that they hired him for, breaking into official record databases and making a mess for the Clave’s competitors.

Alec wishes he had tried to scare Simon off harder when he started dating Isabelle. But he was tough, tougher than everybody gave him credit for.

Until Camille Belcourt had emptied a magazine-worth of bullets in his chest to send a message to Alec’s parents and the Clave.

 _The streets are mine now_ it said loud and clear, not in words but in blood.

 

*

The more Alec tries to come up with a rational explanation, he grows angrier.

The Clave doesn’t want them to retaliate. That’s why Mrs. Herondale was there at the funeral, to make it know, again, that they’ll deal with Camille in time.

It’s bullshit and everyone knows it. Taking Belcourt right now is the only play they have. Not in a month, not in a year. That serpent is resourceful and giving her more time to prepare, more time to gloat isn’t good. Letting her swagger around town makes the Lightwoods and the Garroways look weak to everyone. Again, letting Camille gather more men and gun power, making alliances left and right with the people that think that Alec’s parents got fuck over, said _thank you_ and rolled around for more.

Like they have no pride and lost their edge. And seeing how they both cowed beneath Mrs. Herondale’s orders, it might be true.

Alec calculates the odds for the hundredth time. Him, Jace and a handful of their men storming Camille’s base of operation. Going through the guards, the security system, the bodyguards and her lieutenants. He wants to bring her head to his sister. Make sure that her grief isn’t tainted by the knowledge that her husband’s killer is free and didn’t _pay_.

The odds aren’t good, though. They’ll need more men, more guns. Someone that can pirate the security and make sure the cops don’t find anything else than suspicion.

And that’s without even factoring in the Clave’s anger when they learn that the Lightwood heir got into his head that defying them is a good idea. They’ll wipe them out, Izzy and little Sophie, his parents and Max, Jace, Clary, Jocelyn and Luke. Because the Clave doesn’t need to make that much exemples, but the ones they set are spectacular. Alec can’t risk his family like that. Not even for Simon’s memory. Not even for Izzy’s peace of mind. Not without serious planning.

Alec barely hears his phone ringing in his overcoat pocket over the noise the rain makes all around him.

Magnus.

“Hey babe!” the cheerful voice greets when Alec answers.

“Hey Mags.” His voice his rough from the rain and crying. He hopes that Magnus will let it slide and accept that Alec doesn’t want to talk about it right now.

“Oh… you don’t sound so good. Where are you?” Magnus asks, concern replacing cheer quickly. Alec smiles sadly at that. Hopping for Magnus not to care for him is ridiculous and he should know better by now.

“Hum… I don’t know.” Alec looks around, everything looks the same in the rain and the dime light of the lampposts. “I was on my way home but… I needed a minute” he finishes pitifully. At least with Magnus he can say shit like this, even if he was trained not to do so at a young age. His link to Magnus is stronger that his shitty education, emotionally wise, and there’s something beautiful in that. _Suck it mom, you’re little soldier boy is a bit of a wimp,_ he thinks but immediately rolls his eyes at himself. Here she is, lodged in his head, making him call himself names out of habit.

“And how much did you take?” Magnus doesn’t even sound playful when he asks and it breaks Alec’s heart to hear his lover so sad and defeated. Alec’s tendency to get inside his head for hours at a time usually makes Magnus smile at him fondly.

Alec takes his phone from his ear and looks at the screen to check the time. Shit.

“Too long, it seems,” he confesses, defeated. He takes a deep breaths and asks. “How are you holding up?”

“Not too bad… Not being able to go at the funeral sucked but… Well. Imogene isn’t that fond of me. Better I stay out of her way.” The _for now_ is left unsaid but Alec knows his lover enough to pick it up. One day they won’t have to obey that damn woman. “But I was busy, so don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours. Jace texted me earlier to smooth a little something with the portuaire authority. Guess what,” Magnus snickers like he’s about to tell a joke, “a little bastard thought that he could milk your brother for some extra cash and tried to push others to do so.”

Alec laughs quietly, amused. Stupid little ants thinking that the big players in this town have any patience for them.

“He got his way?” he prompts, eager to be distracted.

“Na. I found someone that was very avid to shake hands with us at a lower price, what an idiot, and Jace _fired_ the greedy one after I sent him the new receptionist’s number,” Magnus drawls, obviously proud at his management. Alec loves that man and how ruthless he can get when someone disrespect him or his careful planning. It was love at first death threat really.

“You guys did good…” he begins but he’s cut by his phone ringing again. “Wait a second Mags, double call,” he explains, annoyed at the interruption.

“I’ll be right there, babe,” Magnus assures and Alec can hear his smile.

Alec looks down at his phone again (thank god, it’s waterproof or something) and swears. He accepts the call nevertheless.

“Hey Lydia,” he greets, mustering as much assurance in his voice as he can.

“Where are you?” she asks bluntly. And they say romance is dead.

“I’m outside the pub, taking a breather,” he lies without thinking about it. No need for her to worry about his whereabouts too.

“In this weather? You’re crazy.”

“It’s been a crazy day, Lyds.” He sounds like he’s begging her and winces at his own tone.

“Not just for you. Your mother’s been asking for you.”

“She’s with you?” he asks, dread overcoming him. He doesn’t want to deal with her. Not right now.

“She went home half an hour ago. Pissed, I might add.”

“Okay…” Alec swallows. “You’re fine then?”

“Yes. Would be better if you were here though. It’s difficult to pretend that we’re happy together when you’re out doing god knows what. Or who,” she snaps.

Alec rolls his eyes, he knows her short temper comes from a place of caring.

“Me and Magnus are fucking careful, don’t worry,” he assures for what must be… shit, he lost count. How fucked up is that.

“If you say so. Don’t stop at his loft tonight. Imogene’s men are around town sniffing at everything juicy and I heard from Luke that they were spotted in the fucking Glades. Don’t know what game she’s playing associating with the Queen but it doesn’t bode well for the statu quo… And we all know what would happen if they caught you and Magnus together.”

“Yeah I know…” he sighs, tired beyond reason. Tired of lying to everyone, tired of forcing Magnus in this situation in the first place, tired of needing his best fucking friend as a beard. “I’m coming home,” he says finally.

“That would be best,” she agrees before abruptly hanging up.

Alec stares in the dark for a moment and gets back to Magnus.

“Hey babe,” he tries.

“Huh. I know that tone,” Magnus says.

“My “I-am-sorry-I-can’t-see-you-tonight” tone?” Not the time to be cute but he can help it. He needs he and Magnus to be okay, that’s all he asks. He rather doesn’t think about a life, his life, without Magnus in it. He need the other man too much. It’s probably not healthy, but Alec doubts it’s more dangerous that his ability to look at people and see chess pieces. He’s a violent man living in a violent world. He’s not going to let go of the only oasis of peace without a fight.

“Your “we’re-in-mortal-danger-because-we’re-a-couple” one actually. But yes, usually the two of them come together,” Magnus answers simply, his voice devoid of emotion. “It’s… shit I was going to say it’s okay. But it really isn’t. Go home, be safe. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”

“Magnus,” Alec almost pleads, passing his free hand in his hair to try getting it out of his eyes, “I love you.”

“And I love you too, Alexander.” It comes so easy to Magnus, those declarations. It made Alec mad and jealous at the same time that first year in their relationship. Now at least he can match it, even say it first. He’s proud of himself for that. “Don’t get into your head that I’m pissed at you. I’m pissed at the mess we’re in,” Magnus continues, soft voice gracefully offering reassurance, as always. 

“I know. I love you more than this mess. More than anything,” Alec adds, earnest to prove himself worthy of Magnus’ patience and affection. “I’ll make it right. I’ll deal with Camille… and then we’ll deal with the Clave.”

Magnus chuckles.

“Sounds good to me, babe.”

Alec smiles and hangs up. The resolution in his heart makes him roll his shoulders and stand tall under the rain.

Time to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	2. And my blade is sharp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty dark, mention of almost non-con, creepy Sebastian...

Alec knows he need to find a way to destroy Camille. But the situation is in her favor: she doesn’t answer to anyone. Alec has to ask permission from his goddamn parents and the Clave every time he needs to take a piss. Mrs. Herondale calls his mother’s office every day from Milan to check on the situation and recall everyone who’s truly in charge.

Lydia, who’s Maryse’s head of security, keep him updated on that front. So he can’t rely on his parents… their leashes so tight around their necks they fused with the skin.

Even Jocelyn and Luke had to confront to the reality of the world and accept to pass their organisation under strict Clave control after she had her husband killed. It was that or pay the price for murdering the nephew of an rich old geezer somewhere in Romania. So Alec can’t count on them or their resources to take down Camille either.

That leave him with dealing with the Queen and even Alec isn’t as reckless as allying himself with that crazy hag.

But he promised Magnus that he would deal with this. And in four years, he hasn’t broke a single promises to his lover. He won’t start now. He can’t.

He faced worse odds and came out on the top.

 

*

A long time ago, when he was dealing on seedy street corner in Brooklyn, Alec made his first kill.

Not something he’s really proud of it. He’s not sad or even horrified by the act and he wasn’t then. When your parents let some of their enforcers take you on missions at a young age, you don’t end up growing up into a caring little marshmallow.

Alec is just profoundly embarrassed and unsatisfied by it.

He had just been 15 at the time, just pushed in the streets, out of the warmth of his parents’ penthouse in Manhattan to prove he was good enough to survive by himself, good enough to take over one day. No Lightwood kids would described their childhood as coddled but still. The real world, grimy and so goddamn cold with only a leather jacket on, made him realized how privileged he had been, even in his own misery. It was a shock to the system, both physically and mentally. That, Alec hopes, somehow justifies his stupidity.

All the preparations in the world hadn't prepare Alec for the helplessness he felt wandering around Brooklyn that first night. There was just a vast void between him and his life -his real life- and no bridges that could cut through. Only an address, a starting point more accurately. A dealer that constantly needed sellers, someone pitifully low in the Lightwoods operation. Perfectly expendable, Alec though.

He knew he was expected to play nice, but nice wasn’t something that Alec had been raised to be. Alec got inside the house the way his father’s bodyguard had showed him once, by the back window, and stole the man blind. Shoved everything he could get in a backpack that was in the living room and fled before the dealer could wake. Years later, Alec would learn that the man got severely punished for losing the drugs. Good… what kind of idiot let a 15-year-old born with silver spoon in the ass steal from him?

Two days later Alec was rob himself, drugs and cash he hadn’t on him gone. Hungry and exhausted by worry and physical exertion he had passed out under a bridge. Sebastian found him and woke him up, offering him a burger if he went to Central Park with him to deliver a package. Alec was too out of it to look a gift horse in the mouse, not even asking why Sebastian (a complete stranger then) had pick him.

Sebastian Verlac had been 22, street rat extraordinaire, tall and well built. A drastic contrast to the laughable scrawny teen Alec had been until the puberty stick really hit him at 17. The most defining trait Sebastian had wasn’t his bleached, almost white blond hair or the scars that covered his arms and neck. No. While unsettling, that had nothing on the fact that he was a complete nutjob. Alec never got around to found out if it was true but the rumor was that Verlac was the bastard of a major crime boss, making him someone easy to cast out down below when he had proved himself too off balanced to be trusted with real business. That left Sebastian with some anger issues. Daddy didn’t love him and so the world had to pay in blood and cash and fear.

But he had been friendly to Alec. Well, to Eric, since it was the name Alec used got by at first.

Unfortunately, turns out the guy wasn’t that nice for no reason. And while Alec had knew he was gay for solid year, he wasn’t into Sebastian. At all. But in the two weeks Alec spent running around trying to survive, Sebastian was the only nice enough person he met. In the situation he was in, even with the recommendations his parents -everyone- had given him, Alec had been desperate for a friend. So Alec brushed off the flirting and the innuendos with a smile, because Sebastian was more useful than annoying and Alec too overconfident about his ability to play him. And after all, Sebastian had enough warm and willing bodies to go around and Alec deemed him harmless.

But Sebastian got obsessed or something. Got into his head that a favor called for a favor and that he had beaten up a guy _for Alec_ more than once, had saved his skin from a delirious crackhead that on time and he wanted payment. Alec, still new and completely missing what Sebastian was truly made off had offered him a nice cut of his future earning in exchange.

Now Alec, all grown up and thick-skinned, he understands. It’s not about money, it rarely is. Power. Domination. Pride. That’s what makes people like them tick.

Unfortunately, 11 years ago, Sebastian laughed and gave him back the money, smirk distorting his face, intent clear. It was the first time Alec realized that Sebastian, with the 8 inches he had on him, would only keep pushing if Alec didn’t _gave it up._ That the older boy was so used to winning that he couldn’t let someone as insignificant as _Eric the dealer_ get away from him without hurting his ego and reputation. In Sebastian's head, Alec refusing to pay was a slight he couldn't ignore. Fear was too essential in his business. And like everything else, it had to be maintained.

Alec wasn’t stupid, but he was too eager.

If he killed Sebastian Verlac, if he showed that kind of guts, it would be easier to take control of his operation or at least part of it. And he would get to go home, safely back in his bed, in a blink of an eye. So he devised a plan. He would accept the _deal_ , to get fucked or whatever Sebastian asked from him, but he would bring a little something something to the meeting.

A knife.

Problem was, when Maryse and Robert waved him goodbye, they lent him a 100 bucks, a watch and the clothes he had on. Nothing more. And between food and shelter, investments and loss, Alec hadn’t bought a knife in the two weeks he was in the street. He had found one but lost it a few days later when he had be running from cops. His parents had been clear, if he got caught by the authorities, he was to be sober and not carrying anything more incriminating than a joint. Easier to make him pass for a fucking runaway kid than to defend a budding criminal, even with all their money. Too many eyes were on them. They would drop him and let him face juvie rather than attract attention.

And so Alec made the rookie mistake of buying a knife in a hurry from another street urchin.

When he showed up at the place Sebastian was squatting with the rest of his crew, the older boy had smiled and put a firm hand on Alec’s shoulder and directed him to a empty room on the third floor. Alec's stomach had turned at the sight of the dirty mattress and sheets on the floor, at what they meant. He couldn't help but wonder how many people Sebastian had took there, at what he done to them.

The rest… well. He doesn’t like to think about it too much. He had forced himself to let Sebastian fondle him a bit until Alec thought that the other was lulled into a false sense of confidence. Alec had sneakily got his knife out and tried to stab the taller man in the neck.

That didn’t happen. Sebastian tore his arm before Alec could even move and took his knife from him, pushing him roughly on the bed with a laugh.

Alec would learn later that the guy from whom he had bought the weapon was under Sebastian’s influence. Like an idiot, he hadn’t even think about getting the knife in a borough that his creepy suitor didn’t control. Panic rose in his stomach, burning his throat, barely letting him breath.

The only reason that Sebastian didn’t rape him that day was because Hodge, the magnificent bastard, had burst into the room half drunk, twisting his dirty fingers around the cross necklace he always wore and mumbled that one of Sebastian’s regular girls had been found dead in a parking lot. Sebastian had looked between Hodge and Alec for a while, like he was weighing his options. He had finally crouched down so he was at Alec’s eye level and gave him the knife gently, as an older brother would pass a ball to a younger sibling, and left. But not before locking his door and ordering someone to watch it.

Alec had thrown up in relief at the delay.

Not waiting for Sebastian to come back, Alec broke the window -cutting his hands in the process- and jumped. It’s a miracle he didn’t break something. He ran, despite his sprained ankle and switched from Brooklyn to fucking Jersey City, hoping, praying really, that Sebastian wouldn’t find him there.

He kept the knife, though. First, because it was the only weapon he had. Second, because he learnt his lesson and he needed the reminder.

Five months later, four ribs broken and too near death experience in alleys, Alec had insinuated himself in one of the stealing crew of the Queen, so far down the power ladder that no one of importance could recognize him. Who would even think that the heir to the Lightwood empire, the direct rival of the Queen on the drug market, would go and work in the Glades.

He could have forgot about Sebastian, probably make his time in the Queen’s ranks, learn everything he could and go back home with enough to tear down part of her organisation to the ground. Fuck, Alec could have ask for his father’s gun upon his arrival home and ride to Sebastian’s dirty hideout in his fucking Mercedes, shoot the fucker and be home in time for dinner without a care in the world. But the knife haunted him and, if he was honest with himself, he got a little obsessed too. Completely unable to let go.

His pride had been hurt and it needed reparation. Called for blood.

One night he pocketed enough hallucinogenes to probably kill a guy from a storage he and the others guys just hitted; An Easy trick when his crew was too busy fighting over a box of oxycodone to watch over the lanky kid. The storage unit belonged, ironically, to the Lightwoods. Alec put his knowledge of the small caches of drugs he knew about in his parents’ operations to good use, finding ways to reveal their locations unseemly, to win over his crew. He didn’t have that much muscles but brain would have to do.

Instead of going right for Sebastian’s throat, this time Alec was going for someone easy. Not the best, not by far, but it would do.

Hodge Starkweather was a drunk and an addict; the age of Alec’s parents and completely under Sebastian’s orders. Alec remembered his habits. Followed him to make sure he didn’t change them and waited a night that the man was stumbling alone in the streets, drunk.

All Alec had to do was to stab him with the needle and _press_ the piston. Hodge fell and Alec dragged his ass in an alley, putting on the monster mask he bought earlier in the day. There, he beat the crap out of Hodge, until the man was crying, his massive built nothing to worry about with all the alcohol and drugs he had in his system.

Hodge plead for his life, begging the monster for the assault to stop. Alec stopped, not needing to go further than what was enough to jump start the hallucinations. When the pathetic waste at his feet had asked why, why was he targeted, Alec had just said that he had been sent because Sebastian was a demon and the angels were angry with Hodge for associating with him. In his two weeks with them, Alec had seen Verlac hit on Hodge enough time to get that it was an habit of his, a stress ball of some sort. Alec repeated Sebastian’s name, shouting it again and again and again until Hodge did the same, anger in his voice.

Alec had hit him a last time, with the butt of a gun, a registered one he had looted from the house of a corrupted accountant on the Queen’s payroll. That would cause quite the stir not matter where the gun ended.

“You will be free when this is done. You’ll get into heaven,” he said, trying to make his voice sound caring. He dropped the gun in Hodge waiting hands and left the alley, satisfied to hear the other man ranting about holy missions. Playing on his faith and guilt had been dead on and Alec couldn’t help but smirk.

That’s the part Alec is the more bitter about, even 11 years after the fact. He never got to see Sebastian’s face when Hodge shot him ten times in the head, just had the satisfaction of hearing the shots and the screams from the people in the house. His fingers itched to pull the trigger, heart beating faster than ever before in his life.

Alec waited for Hodge to be done, for everyone running outside to be gone to sneak in the house and slice Hodge’s throat while the other was contemplating his own work. Better safe than sorry. Alec got lost in his head for a while, caught by surprise by the blood. That nearly cost him to be arrested but he managed to shake up the feeling before the cops got there.

The same way, he never got to see the Queen’s reaction when she learnt that one of her accountants had been interrogated by the cops because one of his gun had been used in a murder and that the man spilled that he wasn’t clean because he was scared… tsk tsk… Never hires people that can’t handle pressure. Unfortunately, the accountant wasn’t as high in the food chain as Alec had hoped. It still got a lot of trouble for the Queen, but not directly to her.

Alec promise himself that he would do better next time. In the meantime, he cut ties with his Glades buddies and made himself indispensable to the thug that took command of the remaining of Sebastian’s crew.

First thing he did when he went to live in Sebastian’s old house was to drag that fucker’s mattress outside and to set it on fire.

  
Now he just needs to apply that strategy to Camille Belcourt and, later, the Clave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. if you try to make a move I won't think twice

*****

It’s been a week since Simon’s funeral.

And Magnus, for all his smiles and _show must go on_ attitude, he’s feeling a bit under the weather. Numb, even. The fact that he couldn’t go to his funeral didn’t help

For years he had been Simon’s friend. At first it hadn’t come easy to Magnus to like the guy. He was loud and geeky and _loved_ , something that Magnus wasn’t too proud to admit he was jealous about. He spent months resenting Simon for being surrounded by people who genuinely liked him. And when you share a flat with someone, resentment isn’t a constructive emotion. But Simon had grown on him and Magnus had let go of his anger, too busy being happy for once.

Years of fondly pretending not to give a damn about Simon had followed, with the occasional drunken hugs and loud friendship declarations.

Now Magnus regrets not cherishing Simon more; not making more time to spend with him one on one and outside of work.... Didn’t they have plan -for years now- to go skydive or something? Yet they never made the time, probably because neither of them seriously ever considered that they could die. How foolish they were, how young.

The reality check hit hard and not having Simon around cracking jokes about Alec or hugging his and Isabelle’s daughter makes it even harder on Magnus’ conscience. They had been complacent, satisfied of what they accomplished and forgot to be cautious.

Simon paid the price.

Knowing that he is six feet deep and _unavenged_ doesn’t sit well with Magnus.

Magnus isn’t really a man of action. He plans, he researches. He makes connections and contracts, smiles at people when they ask what a Harvard educated lawyer is doing here, wasting his talent. They don’t realize that what he really does is far more interesting than anything a regular lawyer carrier could have given to him.

He’s more than satisfied with his job. Playing entremetteur for Alexander and his business suits him very much indeed. Away from the blood and the annoying gun shot sounds that the Lightwoods affection dearly, he can concentrate on researching future suppliers, buyers and the easy government officials -the ones that welcome money with open legs and closed eyes, Magnus’ favorite- that make their little operation neatly work.

But for once, his fingers itch to wrap around Camille Belcourt’s neck and _squeeze_ the life out of her himself. Simon deserves that much.

But the Clave’s word is the law and for the first time in 4 years, Magnus regrets the independence he could have enjoyed if he had played his cards differently. Alexander was worth it, _still is_ , but in this particular situation it means that Magnus can truly feels how tightly his hands are tied.

It’s not a pleasant sensation.

Before Simon’s death, Magnus only felt the Clave pressuring him in passing, mostly because he doesn’t interact directly with their officials. Well, he did met Imogene fucking Herondale a month after being officially hired by Alexander in his little company. The bitch made a comment about the color of his skin and his mother’s addiction. Who would have thought that the mafia did had such _principles_ and were so fond of background check. Her sharp voice had made it extremely clear that he was only here because of his results and because Alexander had vouched for him. Magnus had wanted to gouge her eyes out with his nails but had to put on a smile and fucking nod because her bodyguards looked taller and meaner than Alec -which is no small feat.

Alexander promised, thought. No more Camille and no more Clave. Soon. And his lover _always_ delivers, good or bad, threats and gifts, zeroing in his goal and making everything happen for his words to be true.

So Magnus waits.

And the best way to do so is to keep himself busy. Extremely so. Clary and Izzy have Sophie to take care of, Jace spends his time hitting people (with more passion that he ever did, which shouldn’t be humanly impossible) and Alec is in full planning mode while playing the dutiful fiancé to Lydia for his parents’ sake. So Magnus rolls his proverbial sleeves and gets to works.

“Petra please, could you go to the printer's office and shake him a bit? He’s late again. Bring me the invitation mock ups for the Azzarà rehearsal dinner if you can,” he asks his assistant over the phone while looking at the impressive names the guest list for that particular event is made of. It’s not everyday that the leader of the sicilian mob celebrates his grand-daughter’s wedding, so everyone who’s _someone_ is invited.

Magnus can’t help but wonder at the bride’s reaction if she knew that her family is using her “most perfect day” (her words, not his) as a front to sell weapons and such.

“Of course Mr. Bane. Should I pick up some lunch on my way back?” she promptly asks.

“Treat yourself, dear. Just coffee for me please.” Yet again a symptom of his dark mood since they find Simon’s body. He doesn’t feel like eating at all. His alcohol cabinet took a dreadful toll, though.

Magnus hears a shuffle on the other side of his office door and smiles to himself. Petra is god sent, not only she’s a brilliant organisator but she used to be Izzy’s bodyguard before Magnus stole her away to be his assistant/enforcer. Few people are inclined to say no to Magnus when Petra is breathing down their neck. That printer ought to learn promptness if he wants to keep working for them.

 

*****

The Lightwood empire is cut in three.

Robert officially works has a tremendously successful armator and moves a lot of goods and manpower around the world, some cargos more legal than others. He even recently diversified (thanks to Magnus’ contacts) by working for the American Government. Uncle Sam always needs to move around uncensored agents around the globe. Say one thing about the Lightwoods, say they are patriots.

Right by his side, Maryse deals with half a dozen of nonprofits across the world, taking nice pictures of herself and other rich persons in poor countries, some of which are the biggest producers of drugs in the word (heroine, cocaine, marijuana, you name it). She’s there, using charity money to discreetly found drug farms and their workers. Losing shipments of “school supplies” to the Taliban or “medical kits” to the Farc are excuses Maryse gives with tears in her eyes and hundreds of socialites feeling sorry for the poor woman. They don’t realize that they have one of the most ruthless drug lords in the continent in their midst, eating canapés. And that they willfully write her two to three checks a year.

And then there Alexander.

Hilariously enough, he picked the gayest cover for a closeted man. Alexander Gideon Lightwood, mobster extraordinaire, is a party planner during the day.

Magnus had laugh for days when Alec had told him what he was going to use for their own operation. Poor Alec never could tell the difference between _cream_ and _white_ , let alone manage to keep a straight face when asked about flower arrangements. That’s what Izzy and Clary are supposedly doing at Lightwood Planning, even if the two women handle so much more.

Alec graduated with an economic degree in Harvard and realized that he needed his own set up to be in charge of, unwilling to work directly under his mother or father. So now they plan exclusive parties around the world, ranging from birthdays for Saudi princes to big non profit auctions for Maryse (laundering money through charities that invest in drugs is stupidly effective when you control everything). Alec, Izzy, Jace and Clary are considerate airheads by everyone, young trust fund babies doing nothing of importance, but behind closed doors contracts are signed, money is exchanged and threats are made, away from prying eyes. Simon is… was working the accounts while keeping an eye on their servers security. Which leave Magnus officially writing business contracts. Unofficially he does exactly the same, just not about balloons and chocolate fountain.

It all works pretty neatly together.

In a good week, Alec doesn’t have to shoot someone in the head himself and just need a good fuck or two against a wall, to let out the tension that builds and builds behind his eyes when he read too many guest list drafts. It’s a win in Magnus’ book.

Dealing with blood stains is a bitch.

 

*****

Petra comes back an hour or so later a sour expression on her face, carrying a sport bag as far from her as possible with her right hand, a pile of envelopes under her left arm and a tall heart-attack coffee from Starbuck  Magnus doesn’t pay attention to the rest, the disgusting odor that hits his nostril is enough to derail his plans for the afternoon. Magnus eyes the bag suspiciously while taking the coffee and what must be the mock-ups for the Azzarà wedding.

He takes a sip of the hot beverage -it’s not strong enough to cover the smell- and puts it down with the mocks-up (it’s laced with caramel syrup and whipped cream, hence the name Alec gave it the first time he saw Magnus orders one before stealing the steaming cup from Magnus to fucking _drink it_ ).

“What’s that?” he asks, designating the bag his assistant has yet to put down. Problem is, he already knows. The smell is quite telling.

Petra cringes and reaches down, opening the bag enough for Magnus to see it’s content. Shit shit shit. It’s a good thing he didn’t order lunch or he would have ruined his appetite. She closes the bag swiftly.

“I found it at the door when I got back. The receptionist nearly called the cops but I handled her.”

“Any idea of… who it is?”

“Sorry. There was no note,” she explains, stony faced.

“Perhaps inside…” Magnus murmures to himself. “Don’t worry dear, I know someone who works at the morgue. He’ll deal with this,” he gestures appeasingly at her.

She seems relieved that Magnus won’t make her search through the bloody intestines and shit the bag holds.

“Do you want me to call Mr. Lightwood?”

 _Jace, Alexander or Robert?_ he nearly asks but Alec opens the door at that moment and frowns at the display in front of him.

“What the hell is this?” he bluntly asks, as charming as ever.

Petra, who’s just an inch shorter than Alexander, flinches a bit at her boss’ voice. He does have a reputation for short temper.

“Guts, I’m afraid. Petra found the bag at the door. If I was a gambling man I’d say that Camille is poking fun at us.”

Alec takes the bag from Petra’s hand and dismiss her without a glance. The door closes softly behind her and Alexander, through his holding a bag full of intestines, relaxes considerably. He looks lost at where to put down the bag now that he’s carrying hit. It’s almost comical.

“Don’t even think about putting that on my desk, darling.” The term of endearment rolling off his tongue without his consent makes Magnus winces. Even here in his office, they have to be careful. Magnus apologizes with a sad smile and Alec shrugs.

He’s that tired then.

“We still have that guy at the morgue?” Alexander asks, looking down at the bag with disgust.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll call him right away… but do we have someone missing?”

“Not that I know of,” he shrugs again. He walks to the door and opens it with force. “Raj! Gets this out of my sight and brings it the docks warehouse. And don’t take my car, I don’t want this to perfume it.”

If the bodyguard answers something Magnus doesn’t hear it over his door being slam back shut.

Alexander stands there for a moment, facing the door like it might hold the secret to achieving peace on Earth. Which wouldn’t be really lucrative for them but it’s the thought that counts.

“We’ll get her,” Magnus assures.

His lover snorts, as if the idea is laughable “I’m not closer of finding a solution than I was yesterday. I don’t think she has a weak spot.”

“Hey,” Magnus says, approaching Alexander slowly as one would confronted with a wild animal. “If she doesn't’ have a weak spot that we know of, we can still slam her to the ground until she breaks.”

“That would be a sight,” Alexander concedes.

“It would indeed. But I was thinking more… metaphorically,”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I might know someone, a journalist. She has a reputation for reckless behavior and thirst for bloody news. Maureen Brown, she works at the Times, we met her last year at one of your mother’s fundraisers.”

Alec turns towards him, a clueless look on his face. It’s not something Magnus sees often.

“The girl that followed Simon around until Izzy threw champagne at her? I don’t follow.”

“DuMort got contracted to renovate New York City Hall.” The look of surprise Alexander gives him is telling enough of his agitated state of mind. For him to be unaware of such a big news is huge, especially since he’s personally keeping tabs on Camille himself. They need a vacation… As if it was possible in such a mess.

“That smells shittier than that bag… you want this journalist investigating... what? How DuMort got the contract? Or what that Belcourt bitch wants out of an access to the mayor’s office?”

“Bits of both. Maureen is smart and from what I heard, she didn’t stopped stalking Simon after the champagne incident. She’ll know that Camille isn’t clean, especially after I tell her that she’s the one who killed Simon.”

“That’s… cold.” Magnus can’t help but smile at the praise “And could backfire if she decides to write an article on _his_ death.”

“I’m sure she tried that already. But you’ll have to make it clear that if she wants Simon avenged, she wI'll have to play by our rules.”

Alexander is silent for a moment, obviously mulling over Magnus’ beginning of a plan. It’s not much, but it’s the only option he can think of.

“Shit. It will have to do… I’ll pay her a visit tomorrow. You shouldn’t have to worry about this,” he says after a pause, eyes downcast and shame in his voice.

“Don’t be silly. Your worries are my worries remember? And taking part into Camille’s demise is good for my health,” Magnus reassures him, mindful of keeping his hands to himself.

His lover chuckles at that and steals a quick kiss, despite his own rules about discretion. Magnus can’t really blame him but he still gives Alexander a poke in the ribs.

“You’ll come by tonight? Lydia is making that lamb dish you like,” the other man asks, changing the subject. He does that a lot when he’s feeling guilty.

“Of course. Lydia is my favorite cook in the world. Perhaps I should have asked her to marry me,” Magnus jokes lightly. He wants to kiss Alexander, to hold his hands, to go back _home_ with him and be with him -completely. But he can’t and it wrecks him.

Sacrifices must be made until the time has come to get rid of the Clave and their small minded leaders.

Until then, Magnus suffers in silence. _Alexander is worth it_ , he repeats to himself like a mantra.

 

*****

Magnus met Alec at Harvard. Both had been 21, but Magnus was beginning his LL.M. while Alec barely passed his exams and only his parents’ money got him in sophomore year. Or that was the rumour at least. Gossip travels fast.

Obviously, Magnus had dislike him on the spot, while never actually exchanging a word with the guy or actually meeting him. Alec was rich, a golden son of Alumni, swagging around with his pair of Dior aviator like he was too precious for this world.

Magnus was there through sheer brainpower and long studying nights, doing underclassmen stupid math homeworks or whatever. Not for extra cash but to pay the rent of his mother’s flat, a thing he has been doing since he was 12, buying bullies off by making them look smart, then blackmailing them into protecting _him_. How much Magnus had resented everyone at the time, for living so poorly with the constant stress of his mother disappearing on him again, for his father -his real one- to come back and bit them both to pulpe.

He had realized at a young age that the best way to be safe was to be indispensable. And if people turned on you… well, to pull out the recipes and make them _pay_.

So one night mid September, Magnus was studying. His noise cancelling earplugs were on, so he could concentrate without losing braincells to the party Simon was throwing in their flat. The adderall his loud roommate had hooked him up with was starting to wear off and Magnus needed fresh air, needed to exert his body after staying still for so long. He made quick work of his shoes and grabbed his phone, keys and butterfly knife. Their neighborhood was pretty calm but he couldn’t take the chance of being mugged in the middle of his midnight run.

He got out of his room and immediately rolled his eyes at the smell. The apartment reeked of weed... Now that’s something that a future lawyer might want to avoid. Heading for the living room to give Simon a piece of his mind, he caught sight of a tiny redhead literally getting fucked against the front door by a muscular blond, the ass of the guy on display. Really, Simon could find some better friends than those assholes.

For a kid from Brooklyn that was seemingly without problem (except a deadly case of nerdosophis) Simon knew a ton of rich kids and always had the best drugs just _lying around_ , which was beyond weird. Magnus could barely stand the lot of them but one day those idiots would be in dire need of a overpriced lawyer. And the cash Mommy and Daddy gave them would flow in Magnus’ expert hands. So he stayed civil with them.

“Oh my god Jace, get a fuking room!” someone shouted from behind Magnus.

He turned around, surprised to hear someone that wasn’t too drunk or too high to properly speak. The guy was a giant, easily 6’2’’ and broad shoulders, muscles stretching his black outfit everywhere. Somehow, he was wearing aviators inside.

“We’re in a room,” the girl giggled before moaning loudly. 

“No you’re not! Jesus!” Aviator pushed Magnus aside like _he_ owned the place and forced the two lovers apart. Thank god the girl had a skirt or Magnus would have had an eyeful. “Get dress, drink some water and get a cab back to your place. Now, Jace!”

The two of them sluggishly went to the living room, which was empty but trashed Magnus noted, whispering about stupid buzzkill. Simon was nowhere to be found and Magnus was definitively going to kill him, discount on adderall or not.

The big guy turned around and stopped on his track, one eyebrow rising to his hairline, well above his obnoxious glasses.

“Who are you?”

_Pretty boy got some nerve._

“I live here,” Magnus said, refusing to give his name to the guy. This was his (and Simon’s) apartment. He didn’t have to justify himself, unlike others.

The man’s response was immediate. He took down his sunglasses and crowded Magnus quickly against a wall, holding him by the collar.

“When I ask you a question, I expect an clear answer,” he growled. “Do you understand?”

That… was unexpected. So was the massive black eye the man had been concealing under his glasses. Fucking rich boy got some claws on him. But so did Magnus.

He swiftly opened his butterfly knife and poked the taller man in the belly with it.

“That’s clear enough for you, pretty boy?” he hissed, jabbing the blade again.

The man barely showed any sign of pain, just surprise. A slow smirk on his lips, he said: “Not that much people can gloat about having the drop on me. So, how does this end? You stab me or we call it a truce?”

Damn his fucking eyes, Magnus could barely look away. In a split second decision, he lowered the hand that was holding a knife. And the man’s smirk broadened and he let him go.

“Who the fuck are you?” Magnus shot his way, anger not forgotten.

“Alec Lightwood,” the guy said easily. Lightwood, Lightwood… why did Magnus knew that name? “And you are?”

Magnus glared at him.

“Come on, you can’t expect me to let a psycho with a knife in apartment where my brother and sister hangs out all the time.”

Ew.

“They’re…” Magnus began, designating the room where the blond and the redhead had disappeared with a vague hand gesture, incapable of finishing that sentence. Just ew.

Lightwood made a face.

“That’s my brother. And my… well, I suppose when they get married she’ll be family. Isabelle’s my sister,” he explained.

_Ah. That’s the Lightwood I know._

“Simon’s girlfriend?” he asked, just to be sure.

The guy made a face again. This time Magnus could see the anger in his eyes.

“His what?” _Ooops._ “I’m going to kill that fucking kid,” Lightwood sweared under his breath. He looked extremely pissed, a great deal scarier that the way he had manhandle Magnus and demanded answers. Magnus didn’t feel sorry to have unknowingly redirect Lightwood’s anger toward Simon. Not sorry at all.

“Listen, I don’t have time for your problems or you questions,” Magnus warned, still holding his knife tightly, “so let me pass. When I come back you and your friends better be gone.” He went to stand in front of him. Shit Magnus was tall, but he felt dwarfed by the guy. Still he asked “Do you understand?”

Lightwood chuckled and stepped aside, a strange look on his face.

It was only when Magnus was on the other side of his street that he began to breath normally. When he looked down at his knife, the tip of the blade was covered with blood.

His breath caught in his throat, shuddering at the thought of what he could have done. In a daze he looked up toward his apartment building. Sure enough, someone was watching the street from his living room window.

It striked Magnus as rude to have threaten Lightwood so violently and not give him a name in exchange.

Aaah. Reminiscing about that night always leave a bittersweet taste in Magnus’ mouth. If he hadn’t been so fucking stubborn after that first meeting, if he hadn’t give Alexander a wide berth whenever he could, Magnus would have been fucking that home schooled rich boy a good year sooner than he had.

An entire year with the love of his life that he missed while Alexander pursued him relentlessly, if somewhat discreetly. To his defence, Magnus hadn’t been eager to become the new whore on the side that Alec doubtlessly wanted -stupid, stupid assumption- his mother had done that and where did that got her? Pregnant to the teeth, financially and emotionally depending on the whims of a man twice her age that kept her with petty cash and hand down jewelry -probably belonging to his wife. The man only came around to fuck or beat her down, ignoring Magnus until he had turned five and tried to interpose himself between his mom and her tormentor.

Four ribs, the nose and one arm broken was all he got for his trouble. And that was before his mom started using heroin.

No. While pregnancy wasn’t something that Magnus needed to worry about (especially when Alexander was concerned) he wasn’t going to end up like his mom. Alec was so deep in the closet he would never get out, that much was clear. And he wasn’t dragging Magnus back with him.

So both of them settled for somewhat friendly acquaintances, for Izzy and Simon’ sake since they both had included Magnus in their circle of friend. One day Alexander simply stopped eyeing him with hunger, stopped coming at his flat under dubious pretences to hang out with him (and an eye-rolling Simon). Just Stopped. Only the faintest of tension in his shoulders betrayed that he was actually restraining himself from punching the guy Magnus was seeing at the time. Woosley something, Magnus can barely remember him now. What he does remember is breaking up with him for no other reason that Alexander didn’t like him. That the other man was jealous and that Magnus, for all his talks about not getting involved with the eldest Lightwood, would have hurt himself before hurting Alexander.

Magnus had to struggle everyday out of simple yet appealing daydreams and remind himself why Alexander Lightwood would be bad for him, yet he felt almost angry at the man for following through his promise to leave Magnus be.

He was in deep shit to say the least.

Once he was officially their friends, the Lightwoods, Clary and Simon had sit him down and had a talk. The whole mafia reveal was a bit of a surprise but explained a lot. The fact that everyone wanted Magnus to be part of it wasn’t. He was, after all, their intellectual better -cue Jace throwing a stress ball at his head with a shit eating grin.

Magnus felt at home for the first time in forever with their little band.

But it hadn’t took long for life to get back at him. Magnus’ mother skipped town and rehab again, leaving him with a considerable dent in his bank account. Magnus should have been drunk out of his mind with all the whiskey Jace and Simon pour into him to calm him down, yet the two of them were soundly sleeping on the couch while he was still awake, his worry and anger had still been plaguing him.

 _She is gone again,_ was all he could think about.

Feeling like the snotty little boy he used to be in the police station more often than not while an officer was talking to the social services wasn’t helping him concentrate on his life, hence the alcoholic intervention. Jesus H. Christ he was suppose to take the bar exam a fucking month from now, something that his mother _knew_. Something that didn’t stop her from running away again.

When Alexander showed at the flat to check on them, Magnus been unable to stop himself from babbling his sob story to him, to drunk to care.

It took Magnus two hours to open up about his parents while Alexander listened silently. When Magnus had finished, the other man holded him for a while, rocking him gently and Magnus was feeling too raw to refuse the embrace and warm comfort. He vaguely remembers being put down on his bed and tucked in like a child. He wanted to protest but damn, he was so tired at the time.

Two days later, Magnus was still mortified. That didn’t stop Alexander from entering the flat and silently holding out a phone to Magnus. He had took it, frowning.

The voice should have been long forgotten since the last time Magnus heard it. Almost repressed, like a nightmare in the morning. Yet Magnus recognized the voice immediately. His father was on the line begging for forgiveness, voice rough, slurring the words quickly -without real remorse.

Alexander had asked what he wanted to do, all the while holding Magnus from behind so he could nuzzle his neck reassuringly, his strong arms around Magnus like a shield -when did that happened? Magnus had no idea. His father could be dead in an instant if Manus so wished. Could be beaten again, starved and tortured. Could be brought to him within three days so Magnus could deal with him himself if that what he wanted, Alec had said calmly.

Magnus was left speechless.

In the end, he said one word. It echoed as a gunshot on the other side of the line.

After that, there was no denying that Alexander Lightwood was everything that Magnus had ever wished for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ElodieGuillo/)


	4. Run and hide, it's gonna be a bad night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, there's light bondage/power play in this one, all consensual obviously (they use a color coded safe word green/orange/red for it).

*****

Alec hates the bed in the guest bedroom of his and Lydia’s loft.

It's nice enough, probably the same quality as the one in the master bedroom (Izzy would know better since, she did the decorating) but it's just not the same.

First, it smells wrong. Not bad mind you, just wrong. And since Alec only sleeps there when Magnus visits, it's only normal for the sheets to smell cold -if the even a thing. No wonder he can’t sleep in that laundry detergent filled nightmare. The only solution is to take his own pillow with him for the night, a quick fix that doesn’t really solve anything. It hurts Alec to do so, to go in his bedroom, pick up his pillow and to bring it all the way to the guestroom to place it on the bed ( _where it doesn’t match_ and prove that it doesn’t belong). It makes him feel like he just surrendered.

Secondly, the guest room bed doesn't have Alec’s shape imprinted in the mattress. He's by no means fat, but he's tall and heavy with hours of physical training and that’s a fact. Magnus jabs him enough in between the ribs with manicured fingers when Alec smother him with his weight after sex -when they're lucky enough to enjoy the afterglow together. Or in a bed. The mattress here, though, doesn't get much use to remember Alec by. Meaning that no position, even with Magnus settled in his arms, is comfortable. It’s just not his bed.

Thirdly, Lydia's not there. That one’s kinda strange, something Alec can't really voice without feeling guilty about it -he never told Magnus, it’s too absurdly sad. And it’s not like he actually wants Lydia in his bed. He's gay. Gay, gay, gay. Cock in the ass gay. Balls slapping on his chin and loving every second of it gay. But even that can't protect him from habits and small comforts. How pitiful is his life for sharing his bed at least 5 to 7 times a week with his best friend? For forcing Lydia into this sham? For forcing Magnus -Magnus! The love of his damned life- to live on crumbs and promises? Magnus coming over is a rare treat and mostly, they stay at his loft when they can. But then again, Lydia's not there. She told him once after he took a trip to London with his siblings she has the same trouble and spent that week tossing around their bed. That and getting remarks from his mother about how married they were for not getting any sleep without the other.

It's mostly true anyway. It’s been true for two whole years now, since Alec came up with this lie that developed a life of its own.

No. The real problem with the bed in the guest bedroom is that, every time he uses it, Alec has to confront the sad reality the three of them are in. Four years ago, when they started their relationship, he promised Magnus that their life together wouldn’t be like this.

Four fucking years ago. How much of a liar and a coward does that make him? A huge one he gathers. Still, Magnus stays. And Alec is left with dread thinking about the day that his lover won't, when he’ll curse Alec’s name for robbing him of his life and his right to happiness.

Alec swears that the day he's through with dealing with the Clave, he'll burn down the guestroom bed and fucking dance on the ashes, ridicule be damned.

Until then, he fluffs the pillows on it. Magnus’ coming tonight.

 

*****

“Shouldn’t you go talk to him?” Alec hears Lydia asks with a small voice, so unlike her usual commanding tone.

Magnus doesn’t answer, not verbally at least. The silence in the loft is deafening and Alec’s vision goes blurry for a moment -he bites the inside of his cheek, ruthless, and will the tears away. Exhausted by this day, this week, this entire month, he lowers himself on the floor and rest his head on the wall by the door.

_Why does this shit keeps happening?_

Tonight’s dinner had been going so well. Two of his favorite people in the world around him and he had almost believed that he could make it till morning without shouting at someone.

Hell, even the quick Magnus’ briefing about Maureen Brown had been fun; from her well-documented obsession with Simon to how Magnus had used her and her ambition from time to time. Reporters could ask questions where Alec’s goons couldn’t, at least not without raising suspicion. And Magnus had done all that (and probably more) unknown to Alec, which owed the other man a frown _that he shrugged_. Only Magnus could behave like that and have Alec respected him more for it.

Once again, Magnus’ judgement had been spot on. People believed all the stuff they saw on the news or read on twitter without questioning the bullshit they were fed. Having a reporter in their pocket playing two truths and a lie against the world was genius. You could make or destroy reputations (and profit from it) so easily now.

Sometimes Alec wonders if once the Clave is destroyed and he’s in charge he shouldn’t just place the crown on Magnus’ beautiful head and watch him reap the world for all its worth.

What a sight it would be.

But no. Even glasses of white wine and dreaming of power and the better days that would come wasn’t enough to contain his rage now.

Magnus’ guy from the morgue had identified the remains in the bag. And Raj, bless his rotten heart for staying the entire afternoon and well into the night at the warehouse garding said bag, had been the one who reached Luke -to spare Alec the task. He wasn’t sure he should be worried about that or touched. Of course the bodyguard should have called Alec first but, well. Who could blame him right now.

They lost family again.

Alaric Rodriguez was, supposedly, taking a vacation in Emerald Island for a week with his wife. Instead, his intestines (without forgetting his wallet and bloody wedding ring, it turns out) had been left to bake in the July heat in front of Lightwood Planning. Of course it could be a trick. But Alec doubted it.

Raj wasn’t exactly sure of Luke’s reaction to his best friend’s death or to the fact that Camille -since it had to be her again- had reduced him into some amorphous blob of flesh. A disgusting prop in her war against the Clave and the Lightwoods’ influence in New York. Raj just heard lots of screaming and the call ended abruptly. By the sound of his voice, Alec had been able to tell that his bodyguard expected the same reaction from him.

And yes, the temptation had been there, to throw the phone across the room, knock over the table, punch a wall until his fists were as raw as his mind. He thought about it, fantasized about the violence he could unleash.

Instead, he just passed the phone to Magnus and left, striding across the kitchen to the guest room and quietly locked the door behind him.

“Hey you want something stronger than this? My parents sent me a 50 years old Dalmore… was going to keep it for a rainy day but… well,” Lydia asks in the kitchen. Alec think of sprawling on the bed, of not listening on their conversation but he's too tired for scrupule.

“Every day’s rainy now that he’s not around cracking jokes,” Magnus finishes for her. And Alec can too easily picture the sad smile on his face, the tightness around his black rimmed eyes. Not something his lover lets transpire often yet that look has been dominant for a while on Magnus’ face. Simon’s death just made it more obvious.

“Yeah. Seen Sophie today. Poor thing, she keeps asking when he’s coming back… And Maryse isn’t the best with children, so I let you imagine the shouting match between her and Izzy when Maryse got into her head that some tough love was needed,” Lydia sights, and Alec can hear the sounds of glasses, heavy ones, being put down on the table with a worrying amount of force.

“I rather stay as far away as your sweet mother-in-law as I can. I don’t have your nerves, I would just kill her,” Magnus says self deprecatingly.

Lydia laughs and Magnus joins in. Even Alec can’t contain a small half smile. They all know that Magnus isn’t joking.

Magnus makes a noise that is half-moan half-wail.

“You weren’t fucking around with the strongness of this,” he says after a loud intake of breath, probably referring to the alcohol. “How are your parents anyway? Still pretending that all is well?” Magnus enquiers.

“Yes, Father openly congratulated me over being truly “over my tantrum” now,” Lydia answers, sneering. “Spoke of coming to visit next month now that I can be bring back into the fold. Mother keeps mentioning the unusualness of my and Alec’s extended engagement so I doubt that she’s as easily fooled as he is... But she’ll pretend if it keeps her in the Clave’s good books.”

“Well can I mention, again, how tremendously happy I’m for you and my lover? Really I might weep,” Magnus says. Alec can detect an edge of hysteria in his voice and bites the interior of his cheek again.

“Shut up,” Lydia shots happily.

They keep silent for a while, enjoying the 10.000$ whiskey. Alec should get out of his hiding place but he doesn’t want to talk right now and they would make them, it’s in their nature. Selfishly, he wants Magnus to finish his conversation and come to him. He has enough of the outside world, of its terrible rules and demanding players. Right now, he wants his lover.

“How’s John?” Magnus asks tentatively. Alec gringes; that subjects won’t end well. Or soon.

 _Again with the selfishness_. Guilt nags at the back of his mind. Lydia is his best friend, he should not ressent her (or Magnus) for needing to talk.

“Most of the same. He’s tired. Last mail I got was before Simon’s -” a pause,” death. I’m not sure if I can actually answer him now that Si isn’t there to hide my trace. And… Nevermind.”

“What?”

“Simon was the one who procured the passports, the fakes, the money. I could do it, hell, Alec could do it but not without the Lightwoods and the Clave _noticing_ that someone moving ressources right under their noses _._ ”

Behold the great Alexander Gideon Lightwood, raised for the top, making promises he can’t make good on. One of his _greatest accomplishment_. Failing, failing, failing.

Lydia, even in her exile, remains the sole heir of the Brandwell name. Great smugglers in their time, a bit less now -still respected though. Europe bred, old money criminals -some blue blood here and there. People that the Clave acknowledge, trust and support.

People that didn’t really like the idea of their precious little girl dating a Central American man with a skin a least three shades too dark for their _conservative_ tastes. John Monteverde, for all his accomplishments and loyalty to the Clave and the Brandwells, was born on the wrong hemisphere.

Lydia had been shipped to New York, to learn some proper behavior under Maryse -what a fucking joke that one was- while John had been killed. Or so the Clave had assumed, like everyone else. The explosion had been convincing, to the point Lydia had mourned him for a while until he reappeared at her door, seeking her on last time before going underground for good.

Something too close to his and Magnus’ situation for Alec’s heart to be unmoved.

Better plans had been made. Simon, with all the power he had access to at his fingertips made sure that John was safe, somewhere warm, with deep enough pockets and new names to hide behind. Away from the Clave’s reach. And unfortunately, away from Lydia’s.

Until the time came to come back, when the Clave’s rule would be no more. Fat chance it seems, some days, to see that happen. But Alec rarely saw the hopeful side of life.

Funny enough, he was the one that dangled hope in front of his loved one so often.

 

*****

Magnus’ hands are on his hips and if he could be bothered to lower them _just so_ , Alec would be extremely grateful. But his lover is obviously in a teasing mood tonight. And that too, suits Alec.

“I’m not rushing us into bad sex,” he had murmured into Alec’s neck earlier, his naked body covering Alec’s and his hard cock rutting sporadically on his thigh.

“Can’t… think of a time we had bad sex, love.”

“The Rome incident,” Magnus countered, his teeth biting lightly at Alec’s collarbone the second the words left his mouth.

“It was… interrupted sex, not bad. I made good on it lat _-eeer,_ ” he moaned the rest of the word, overwhelmed by Magnus’ touch.

“You sure did.” Alec could hear his smirk in his voice

But now Magnus is just looking down at him from in between his legs, hands light on his skin and _unmoving_.

Gradually, Magnus’ right hand goes up, up, up his side, thumbs the sharp v-line of his pelvis and, just higher, the only scar that Magnus ever gave to Alec.

That fucking scar.

Alec had some others, far more impressive. They usually were a bother, a stiff reminder that while he survived, he had been too slow, too predictable. But that scar...

That scar was a prized possession. Not a inch large, right under the ribs. Just a scratch compared to the one he had on his forearm, where a knife cut through muscles cleanly during an exchange gone wrong when he was in the streets -hurt like a bitch. No, it’s something nearly invisible, not like the bullet wound on his shoulder, which left ugly molten skin in its wake (still throbs sometimes when he’s not careful, which is always).

Yet Alec can feel this tiny scar, as painful as it had been, each time he looks into Magnus’ eyes. This one was proof that Alec isn’t alone, isn’t made of tin.

 _Love at first death threat._ He chuckles.

Like a angry cat Magnus had stabbed him, marked him as his, even if he had not acknowledged it at the time. And Alec had been lost in the pain, too used to keep it inside to show anything else than surprise. At being stabbed. At being proved too careless.

At being wrong.

He never would have though he met someone like this. Though he had fucked his fair share of guys -nameless, sometimes faceless guys- Alec had never saw any kind of spark in their eyes. It was just a need that screamed to be satisfied as discreetly as possible. He never had felt fire when looking at anyone, never felt like he met his match. But Magnus was so much more. He was heady gasoline, overpowering and calling for him to be set on fire.

Interesting people and people he could or would fuck had never overlapped before. As excuses go, Alec thinks it’s a good one for going completely crazy over a _boy_.

As Magnus was hissing at him, Alec had been thinking about manhandling him again against the wall. To kiss him silent and just… just see how the other man reacted. Alec hadn’t know Magnus’ name at the time, at least not for sure. The perfect hurricane in front of him could only be Simon’s elusive roommate, the one that had been described as boring. Fuck Simon. Magnus was the most interesting person Alec had met in his entire life.

And when he left, Alec wanted to see more, know more. Have more. More, more, more, more, drumming at the back of his head, low in his belly and searing his groin.

So he shook off Simon a little bit the next time he saw the boy. Not to much, or Izzy would have been upset and raged at him, but enough to take the point across. And if Alec grilled Simon for an entire afternoon about Magnus after threatening the kid for dating his sister, what of it? He had done far worst in his years.

Everyone had been astonished when he showed up for a party that he refused to attend weeks prior. Just because Clary had mention that Magnus was coming. Alec had even forced Izzy to invite Magnus to one of their mother’s charity events under false pretense, arguing that Simon always felt out of place with everyone busy occupied tonguing socialites’ ass…

Magnus had refused, politely, until Alec pointed at that it would be stupid to miss such an opportunity to meet some of NY top ranking lawyers or judges. Networking was everything in the higher spheres of power and appealing to Magnus’ brain and his career hungry disposition had owned Alec a smile from the other man.

Just one, but it had been enough to give him hope.

Alec is recalled from his reminiscence by Magnus’ sharp teeth sinking in his left thigh viciously.

“Ouch!” Alec shouts.

Magnus gives him an unimpressed glare and licks a long, maddening line of fire from his taint to the head of his cock. Alec moans, eyes fluttering from pleasure.

“Where did you go, darling? Am I boring you?” Magnus asks, cocking his head to the side. “First at dinner, now this… should I go and come back later…?”

“Nowhe- As if you- !” Alec half answers, breathing far too heavily with anticipation to form complete sentences. He’s so damn eager to get Magnus’ lips back on him. “I -fuuuuck, please keep doing that,” he begs, cutting himself off when his lover begins to tongue at his slit, making it shiny with saliva and precome. “Was just, you know, thin _king_.”

“About?” Magnus sounds unmoved by Alec’s struggle for coherence and doesn’t have the decency to wait and leave him some time to answer before he pushes Alec’s legs apart a bit more and his hands find his ass, grabbing his cheeks firmly.

“You… Me -and me,” he corrects. When is he not thinking about them? When he’s plotting their way to the light. And still, it’s for them. Them, them, them.

“Usually a nice thing,” Magnus concedes before lowering his head and catching Alec’s right nipple with his teeth.

“Yeah,” Alec moans, not entirely sure of his chance to survive Magnus’ teasing. He tugs at the silky restraints around his wrists, lightly, just to test them. They’re pleasantly tight; just enough for him to be incapable of touching Magnus when he wants to -which is always. The frustration is exquisite. His need to take charge bested.

The silk cuffs, in themselves, aren’t much. Soft ribbons, curling around his wrists and forearms. Thin stripes of that supple shade of red - _burgundy_ , Alec’s mind supplies- that Magnus loves so damn much. Sometimes Alec can feel the ghost of them on his skin at work and think about wearing them around his arms under his monkey Armani suit and white shirts. He probably wouldn’t get any shit done, a useless mess, beatific smile on his face and the world spinning around him.

The bonds used to be tighter, once upon a time that Alec had been less agreeable to let himself go uncheck, to accept that he could breath and place himself in Magnus’ care. He would stop Magnus mid trust, begging for him to tighten the cuffs lest that he untied himself and tried to take over.

It’s strange what restrains can do to people; might mean. Most of the time the simple idea of them makes people nervous. And Alec was bounded and trapped a worrying number of time. By all logic, he shouldn't have found freedom in them.

Probably the credits are due to _Magnus_ since he was the person on the other side of the knots. The one person that Alec trusted to be fragile with. For a night Alec could feel all the threads that linked him to the world dissolve, his mind, his body -his damned soul even, if he had believed in that crap- only acknowledging the thick ropes from his heart to Magnus’.

“Still. I didn’t come all the way from Brooklyn tonight to have you fantasizing about, well, me…” Magnus loses some of his seriousness as he says the words, probably realizing that being jealous of himself might be a pointless endeavor. He abandons one nipple to the other, sucking it exquisitely while one clever finger finds Alec’s opening, just touching him there. A promise.

“You have my attention,” Alec murmured, baring his throat to his lover, tempting him. The last mark Magnus left on him had disappear a while ago and Alec needs a replacement. A hundred would not be enough. A thousand a poor consolation.

Alec carries Magnus in his heart, in his mind, on his skin. He only wishes he could do it in plain sight. Proudly.

“Good,” Magnus smiles down at him and it takes Alec a second or two to remembers what they had been talking about. “What were you getting lost into anyway?” he asks, lone finger finely breaching Alec to the first knuckle.

Alec lets out a hybrid of chuckle and moan. In a heartbeat, he bends one hairy leg around Magnus’ tapered waist, bringing him quickly closer, urging him to get on with it. They only have the night.

“First time you fucked me, remember?” Alec asks, voice hoarse.

Magnus only nods, dark eyes riveted on Alec’s. Disappointingly, he gets his finger out of Alec -who whimpers at the loss.

“Got you to finally admit that it was something you wanted -craved. How long you fucking denied…” Magnus comments, pumping some lube on his elegant fingers, spreading it around slowly. The sight alone is maddening.

“I was stupid,” Alec apologises.

How he had been scared. Scared of admitting weakness, scared of his own shadow, following to the letter a set of rules that were rotten to the core. Years he wasted fucking guys and getting sucked by others, fear in his belly more pressing than desire, never getting what he truly needed. All because being gay was a sin, was an insult to the very concept of masculinity itself. Or so his parents said. So the Clave said. And to be the one getting fucked? Even worse.

The women in the Clave didn’t seem to catch the subtext of that one. But Alec had and, since then, refused himself the simplest fantasy involving him spreading his leg for a guy.

Bullshit. But it took him a while to realize that. Yet an other thing that Magnus had brighten in his sorry life.

“You got better,” Magnus murmurs. “Way, _way better_.”

“Better enough for you to stop teasing and fuck me?” he can’t help but challenge, wetting his lips.

“Looks who’s impatient… what if I want to take my time?” And one of his lube covered hand sneaks back on Alec’s cock, pumping it lightly once, twice and off again. It doesn’t relieve Alec’s need, just kindles it. “What if I want to see you beg a little?”

“I’ll beg on my knees if you want,” Alec says truthfully. 

Magnus chuckles and traces with a finger a wet line from Alec’s chin to his navel, down his pubic hair and up his cock -the pressure’s just right, commanding. The moan that trashes out of Alec’s throat is almost painful. This means stay still, stay silent and you might get what you need _in time._

Magnus looks down at him, expectant.

“Green,” Alec says in a breath.

A slow smile spread on Magnus’ lips.

“Now that’s something I can work with.”

Magnus doesn’t make too much of show of opening Alec up. It’s something that Alec is grateful for or he might have come right then and Magnus being Magnus would have stop to contemplate is handy work. That can take some time, as his lover enjoy gloating and teasing and would have begin from the start all over again if Alec had come out of turn.

It’s the sort of maddeness that they share, the wait. The anticipation. The soft chuckle Magnus gives him when Alec whines for more.

“Jesus Fuck you’re too tempting like this,” Magnus says absently, pumping three fingers in Alec’s ass. Or at least that what he thinks he hears but his sobbing with pleasure so much he could be mistaken.

Alec can’t answer, not with words at least. Body talk is so much easier anyway. He cants his ass higher, pushing back on Magnus’ broad fingers and rolls his hips -something he does when he’s riding Magnus that never leave the other man indifferent.

Finally, his lover take the hint and pops his fingers out, a bit carelessly but Alec likes it.

“Messy?” Magnus demands, ogling an unopened box of condoms on the bedside table.

“Green,” Alec says again. He could live his entire life saying only that word to Magnus and be fine with the results.

Magnus’ smiles and in a heartbeat, he places his cockhead at Alec’s entrance.

After that, it’s a haze. Lazy, unfocused trusts followed by defined patterns of which the rhythm is only known to Magnus. Scratching of nails across his torso and the odd peck on the nose. And through all, Magnus ragged voice, branding him with words, praising and loving him. So much.

Alec concentrates on it like a life line, adrift as he is in the overwhelming sensations he’s put through. He might be begging, might be claiming ownership of his own. He might probably faint from this too.

But Magnus doesn’t let him, spaces out his touches, helping him regain his breath, until he’s satisfied and fucks Alec until he’s shouting and comes inside of him. Alec’s grateful for it; Magnus coming is something he wouldn’t have want to miss. A beautiful face, slack in pleasure and his makeup smeared attractively. And the _sound of him_.

He’s addictive.

Magnus gives him a few more thrusts, then pulls out, ragged breath warming the crook of his neck.

“Wanna... “ Magnus begins, then moans again, his softening cock perhaps a bit too sensitive for the way Magnus’s undulating his body against Alec’s. He takes a moment to breath and continues. “I’ll give you a choice tonight. One, I blow you, and that can take half an hour,” he punctuates his words with a sharp twist to Alec’s right nipple, “or two, I get you out of those,” and he caresses Alec’s forearm and his silky restrains, “and you can do whatever you what.”

_The fucker._

“Or three... “ his hand finds Alec’s cock in between them, “three, we wait until I get hard again and we see how much you can take before you come untouched.”

Alec might hate him a little.

His entire body is on fucking fire, his cock straining and his ass clenching around nothing. He doesn’t know what he wants or what he’s ready to endure. He swallows with difficulty, trying to order his thoughts. The way Magnus is kissing the skin where his shoulder meets his neck isn’t helping his concentration, though.

In the end, he just croaks “One.” And damn, his is voice beyond fucked up, clueing him on how loud he must have been when Magnus was fucking him.

Magnus smiles and trails his way down to his cock again, peppering the red skin and the angry red lines on his torso with gentle kisses.

It takes 28 minutes for him to come. Alec knows that _exactly_ because Magnus tells him to watch the alarm clock and to count the passing minutes out loud. By the end, he’s more wailing the numbers than anything else, but Magnus seems to appreciate if the enthusiasm with which he sucks on Alec is anything to go by. It’s Magnus fingers that finally does the trick though, crooking inside of him firmly and massaging his prostate relentlessly until...

Alec’s vision goes white and he’s drown in pleasure high and higher still.

Then he’s tumbling down, down, down, back to Earth in Magnus’ arms, where his lover is gently untying him and, once it’s done, kissing his forehead. Many words are exchanged after this, soft and caring; words that fuels Alec for days after, jealously guarded in his heart.

Magnus makes him drink some water, the glass is wet and drops hit his feverish skin, making him shiver.

“I’ve got you my darling,” Magnus promises, putting the glass back on the bedside table and encircling Alec in his arms once more.

And Alec, in spite of everything he was taught during his life, trusts him.

 

*****

Alec is going to kill Lydia.

It’s, shit, 6 am and Lydia is usually quiet as a mouse when she needs to be up before Alec. But she’s making so much fucking noise that…

Wait. Alec completely wakes up when he realises that Lydia isn’t banging cooking instruments on the kitchen table but pounding on the door.

“Alec! Fucking bastard! WAKE UP! Your mother’s in the lobby!” she screams.

Beside Alec, Magnus’ grumbles something in his sleep and burrows his face a bit more in Alec’s neck.

Before he can register what he’s doing, Alec shots out the bed, crosses the room -ignoring the soreness in his ass- and unlocks the door, nearly getting hit by Lydia on the nose.

“Get yourself under the shower, I’ll keep her waiting,” Lydia says, eyeing the guestroom worriedly. “She’ll know about his car.”

“Laptops in the living room and puts some glasses over there. Late night work session...” he says already half the way to their bedroom. “Azzarà wedding security prep, actually something we might work on at some point.”

“Magnus had one too many and I took his keys,” Lydia finishes for him. “She won’t be happy.”

“When is she?” he asks over his shoulder, a sick giggles ready to overcome him. Fucking shit.

He was suppose to get Magnus for two more hours before they had to head for work. Two hours, alone in the loft, doing crazy thing like having breakfast together and pretending that this was their life -their routine.

The water is icy cold and he leaves it that way, grinding his teeth together. As he scrubs away any evidence of last night, he can’t help but wish for his mother’s elevator to malfunction and crash.

One can dream.

 

*****

The woman waiting, sitting on a bench as casually as you please, is exactly what Alec remembers of his brief encounter with Maureen Brown a year ago. Tall, elegant and gazing at everything and everyone in the terrace with an air of contempt that he knows she can’t really back up… he grew up surrounded by women that had more power in on one of their six inches heels than God Almighty.

To him, Ms. Brown doesn't look like much.

Her being junior reporter at the New York Times doesn't mean shit to him. How could he take a person seriously after witnessing his baby sister humiliating them? Champagne thrown at her face, makeup running down, soaking the top of her dress… she had look like a half drown kitten. A pitiful sight, especially in front of the New York richest socialites, who are so easily impressed by the ridicule of others. That night he hadn’t pay that much attention to her, Izzy could handle the crazies. _His_ job had been to pretend that he was _enjoying_ himself while planning the best way to get Magnus in a empty room -unnoticed.

Alec walks for a while around the Bethesda Fountain, hands in his pockets and sunglasses on. Just a man taking a stroll in Central Park in the morning, at an hour where the place is not swarmed by tourists. The city is still recovering from the 4th of July celebration and it shows in the amount of confetti laying around like a multicoloured, dirty snow.

They had to change their plan and wait another day to contact Ms Brown. Maryse had news from the Clave about Camille. Orders, more like it. Even after her new stunt, the Clave wanted them to stand by. First Simon, then Alaric. Who would be next before the Clave reacted?

Yet Maryse had been unfazed, more concerned about Luke and Jocelyn’s temper than about a new death. Alec had spend the day at their townhouse, appeasing Luke with half truths and Jocelyn with outright threats -for his parents peace of mind, a shit he had to do far too much for his taste.

Like kissing Lydia good morning like she was his lover.

No, his mother hadn’t even tried to hide her contempt when Magnus had exited the guest room in his rumpled clothes -he had a change in his carry on, but it was too much of a risk to put on fresh clothes. He was after all, not supposed to be prepare to spend the night.

Lies upon lies upon secrets and guilt.

He takes a deep breath, chasing thoughts of Magnus’ away (with some difficulties) and turns his eyes to the fountain, letting the gentle sound of water hitting water lull him back in his skin.

Angels are in the center of the fountain… something about Temperance, Peace and Purity he thinks -hardly what today’s meeting is about, or any day for that matter. On the edge of his vision, he can see Raj gazing at the view from the upper terrace, indolently resting his elbows on the balustrade. He knows that the others have been covering the grounds since dawn to insure that it’s safe for Alec to literally go talk to the press. A fed waiting in the bushes like a flasher would not do. And while Alec trusts his staff, he _needs_ to prowl the perimeter by himself to check the issues and get a feel at the bystanders. There's not a thing as too careful when it comes to meeting outsiders in public places. There not such thing as trusting his safety (and with it, the one of everyone he holds dear) onto the hands of fate.

When he's satisfied with his reckon, he sends a quick text to Raj for his men to take positions and circles the massive fountain to go talk to Maureen Brown.

Their eyes met and she frowns, her nonchalance gone in a fucking instant as she realizes that he's heading straight to her. Alec won't lie, he gets a little thrill out of it. At being _noticed_ , at having people whitening in fear around him. His built and the attitude he keeps up make people uncomfortable and Alec smirks down at her as he draws near. He stops a few feet from the stone bench and slides his aviator off, extending a hand to her as he puts his pair of sunglasses in the breast pocket of his vest with the other.

“You're not Mr. Bane,” she manages, forcing the words out. She doesn't shake his hand, her eyes keep switching from his face to his hand, like she can’t quite decide which is more dangerous. ‘I don’t deal with anyone else.”

 _Mr. Bane. Ah_. One day perhaps he will be, Alec thinks to himself. He's not worthy of that privilege yet. Hasn’t earn it.

“I'm Mr. Bane’s employer,” he answers casually, sitting down next to her without being prompted, his back to the lake bordering this side of the plaza, “and we have business to discuss, so you might want to turn off your phone or any recording devices you have on you.” His tone is carefully neutral, but she turns a shade paler when he points with his chin at Raj across the fountain in front of them. Then he does the same to their left, where Andrews and Cosca are waiting, easily standing out in their black suits. She checks her right without him having to point in that direction and he doesn’t have to turn his head to know that Carmichael must be giving her the best death glare he can manage.

Alec has been told that it’s impressive -not that he would know. God knows that Alec made his peace with being the scariest person in the room a while ago.

Ms. Brown closes her eyes a moment, clutching her purse like the action could protect her. A rather common display of magical thinking in children, something that Alec could almost find cute.

Almost.

She looks back at him, pleading if not with her words with her eyes. Didn’t Magnus said she was hungrier than a shark? A reckless piece of work? Alec had people showing more backbone while he was pointing a gun to their head.

Now, the trick is into waiting long enough for her to understand the deepness of the shit she's in without allowing her to think that he's made of empty threats.

 _Ten, nine, eight,_ his smirk widens, _six, five,_ crossing of legs, _three, tw_ -

She rummages in her handbag and gets her phone out, shutting down the recording app and turning the phone off completely.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs. Magnus did say that he used her from time to time to make some secrets bubble up to the surface. She might not be in their world, but she’s drowning in it. Her career was built for Mags to use and she needs to get that in her head. “Now. It’s my understanding that you had a rather long and worrying obsession for my brother-in-law. I’m sure that you heard the news now and that you might even suspect what happened…”

Her face falls and fat tears forms in her eyes. In seconds, she’s sobbing with less restraint that Sophie at the funeral. Alec rolls his eyes and looks at the angel on top of the fountain, begging for the strength not to punch Ms. Brown in the face and give her a real reason to cry about.

_Who’s that bitch anyway? She didn’t know Simon, didn’t know him at all. Stalking isn’t love. How does she dare crying like that about him?_

“Would you stop embarrassing yourself? I’m not here to hand you a goddamn tissue. What I offer will be far more constructive regarding your _grieving process,_ ” he sneers.

Nevertheless, his mocking tone cuts her mid sobs and some defiance strengthen her spine.

_Good, now we’re getting somewhere._

“You don’t ha-”

“Shut up,” he shots, throwing a picture of Camille Belcourt on her lap. “You know this woman?”

Maureen Brown looks down, frowning at the photograph.

“She looks somewhat familiar… what does she has to do with Simon’s… death?”

“She killed him,” he says carelessly. One would think that he was talking about the weather.

Inside, it’s a relief that his voice didn’t cracked under the contained emotions. Alec trusts Raj and the rest of his security staff to take a bullet for him if it comes down to it. But someone used to _weekly_ babbles to Maryse about his whereabouts and actions. Alec took care of that, firmly, yet showing no emotions is an habit that stuck, a coat of armor that fused with his skin a long time ago. Sometimes it’s easier for him not to try to struggle out of it.

Even if it’s stupid. If someone among his men is talking too much, they’ll report his disobedience to the Clave’s orders, not a possible tremor in his voice. _We’re all traitors here._

“She did it herself?” the journalist asks, a new edge in her tone bringing him out of his inner reflexion. Something akin to the beginning of a storm.

 _Uh. Interesting question._ Not the kind people usually ask after an accusation like that. Usually they call bullshit or demand proofs. There might be a use for Ms. Brown after all.

“I’m told that Mrs. Belcourt isn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty.” Alec punctuates his declaration by dropping a second photograph on her lap. This one shows Camille Belcourt, shaking hands with Bill de Blazio himself in front of City Hall, bright yellow helmets on their heads and brighter smiles stretching their lips.

“Why giving me this? Can’t your... “ she stops herself, looks around worriedly and continues in a ushered tone, “men do something about her?”

 _They could, if the Clave weren’t a bunch of weak minded old fools._ Yet something else that Alec can’t express.

“That’s not in the cards right now. I need information, an angle. Possibly an scandal. Something that makes this bitch sweat a bit and gives us room to work.”

“And what do _I_ get if I manage to give you that?”

“A hand in her downfall? If that doesn’t motivate you enough, I’m sure that not burning alive in your apartment or, say, getting pointlessly killed in a mugging would motivated you Ms. Brown.”

Through his earpiece, Alec hears Raj chuckling.

It’s easy after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3  
> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ElodieGuillo/)


	5. Hold me down in the siren lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay long time no see and all that. I have no other excuse for the lack of update than life, an other story that is keeping me hostage and a bit of a writing slump. I hope you enjoy this chapter even if it's pretty late and pretty violent :)

*

The thing about laying low and being a good, obedient boy is that you can fake it if you’re clever enough.

That’s why Alec is speeding well past the limit on his NCR Leggera 1200 Titanium Special, zooming through lanes of cars like a maniac. Isabelle, who’s riding her own bright red bike in front of him, takes a sharp turn on their left and three others bikes follow her, like deadly birds in wood of concrete and asphalt. Alec catches up with them easily, but let Isabelle lead the charge -she loves speed and recklessness more than he does.

She _needs_ those things right now.

“Convoy is still on the interstate, it will be on the bridge in five minutes top,” Jace announces to them in their earpieces. “A big black hummer opening, two black vans with the cargo and three BMW X3 flanking them and closing.”

 _Someone’s scared_ , Alec thinks. _Good._

It’s good to be out doing something and not just helplessly wait for Ms. Brown to uncover some dirt that Camille Belcourt might be hiding from the public eye. The by-the-book method might give result in the long run but it won’t hurt to try something unconventional in the meantime.

After today, he’ll have a scandale, loads of raw intel and more importantly, a way to work out that anger brewing in him since Simon’s dead eyes looked through him. His body had been carefully laid on a morgue table with that white sheet on the rest of his body. Alec had forced himself to uncover the numerous bullet holes, to stare at them… to make them his, in a weird, morbid way.

 _Productive madness_ he always called it. The only reason he’s not rampaging in the streets like an idiot, as his guts drive him to. Since he can’t cut Belcourt’s head, he is going to burn her hands.

The bikes are a thing of beauty, fast and swift; in no time, Alec and the others are on the packed George Washington bridge, entering from the Manhattan side. He spots the shiny BMWs easily and left them for Raj, Carmichael and Petra to deal with, continuing with Izzy toward the biggest, most pricey distraction of all their lives.

Jace is already on the bridge, in a vehicle that lacks the motorcycles fitness and beauty, but with more, err, impact.

Two of Izzy’s informants had died to tell her about this shipment. Belcourt truly thinks that the streets are hers if she moving five millions worth of drugs around in bright daylight -on Lightwood territory no less- and thinking that they won’t punish her for it.

Well. Alec knows that his parents would have grind their teeth together and call Herondale for _permission_. The old bat would have refused and hung up before they could beg. That’s why Izzy didn’t pass the intel about Belcourt’s shipment to Maryse and Robert, but to Alec.

It’s open betrayal, an act of rebellion that might cost Izzy her head and Alec’s as well if it’s ever known.

 _It’s fucking liberating_ , as Izzy put it.

Today is as much the beginning of her revenge that his own: against Belcourt, their parents and the Clave.

Izzy’s in a mood and it shows in the reckless way she’s driving, even if she keeps quiet on the comms. They’re all on edge, but none lost as much as she did… Once upon a time, before Simon’s death, before Sophie’s birth even, Izzy would have been shouting and howling with laughter doing something like this. She grew more serious, more mature, in ways that Alec can’t really understand. Sometimes he misses his brash little sister, the unruly child he could pick up and balance on his shoulders to run around the penthouse, Jace chasing then with a wooden sword.

Blood, that’s what she need. Alec would be mad and a poor excuse of a brother if he faulted her for it -if he dared deny her thirst.

“Ready?” he asks through his hands free comms when he and Izzy are level with the two vans.

Izzy doesn’t answer but she raises her hand high above her helmet and Alec can guess what she’s holding. Good.

In his ears, all the others confirms that they’re in position.

“Then go.”

He speeds up, passing the opened window of the second black van and throws a grenade through it before accelerating with all the horsepower the motorcycle has. Iz does the same, zooming out of the blast zone expertly.

Five nearly synchrone explosions go off suddenly and the entire bridge panics. Cars deviate erratically to avoid the danger, provoking accidents by the dozens. People stop and get out of their cars, too stupid to fight their sick curiosity and peak at the destroyed cars and vans.

It’s a shame the drugs in the vans couldn’t be saved but the distraction need to be perfect.

“Four on five, good job,” Jace says, chuckling. “The hummer is in the middle of the bridge, got rear ended by a bus would ya believe?”

Petra and Carmichael shoot in the air with their M16, attracting the attention and fear of everyone looking at them. Bystanders cower back in their cars, behind them, stumbling and falling, phones clenched tight in their hands. When Alec and the others finally circle the hummer with their bikes, Jace and Andrews have been busy extracting the passengers from it and already exchanged them for dead bodies provided by Magnus’ contacts, as a bus (drove by Cosca) provides cover.

Jace nods to Alec and gets back in his car, as easy and collected as you pleased, three knock out prisoners in the truck and the back.

The bus gets out of the way, Costa giving a yell and faking fear at the sight of five M16-bearing, motorcycles-riding assholes. Alec gets down his bike, walks to the hummer, opens the door and make a big show of showering the corpses that Jace placed there with bullets, before going back to his bike when it’s done.

Izzy throws a last grenade and the hummer explode, metal parts shooting in the air. In their leather and protective gears, the heat is unbelievable -so close of the danger, yet the safest people on the bridge, it’s exhilarating. They speed through the bridge, loud and obnoxious as they can before getting back on land.

There, two cop cars are waiting for them, siren blazing. To an outsider, it’s logical: Bad guys get chased by cops all the time; it's even on tv, helicopter following the action, waiting, hoping, really, for some juicy drama.

But the cops are in Alec’s pocket and part of the show, courtesy of Magnus’ excellent accounting and networking. They give the change, tailing them for some miles but cop cars can’t follow powerful bikes everywhere and, regretfully, they lose sight of them. At least that’s what they will say in their reports -they were paid enough for it.

Cops spot them again in Edgewater but Alec and the others are too quick and well informed about the patrols to get caught. South of there, Alec is nearly run down by a truck in Hoboken before they’re finally spotted in Jersey City. To the cops, those streets are knows has the Glades.

The Queen’s territory.

Everyone just saw the people who attacked and killed Camille Belcourt’s men seeking refuge in there, as the Queen’s men would.

This could easily degenerate in a blood bath. Alec can’t wait.

They ditch the bikes in a truck and, wearing disguises and wigs, slowly get back towards Manhattan in two groups, driving unremarkable sedans.

The thing about laying low and being a good, obedient boy is that Alec doesn’t like to do that.

On the radio, the WCBS host is deploring the attack and the frightening death count, as well as the incompetence of the police in catching the culprits. Alec’s favorite moment is when they try to call Belcourt’s office on air for a comment and nobody, not even a secretary, answers.

Alec’s not too hopeful, though. She suffered a major loss today -more than she knows- but she probably still can count on some people to erase what the Belcourt Constructions vans were truly transporting.

But by doing so she will flag to Alec who in the police department is working with her.

_Win-win._

 

*

Alec sits gracelessly on a big plastic chair. Cheap, but he doesn't need much for tonight’s work. Torturing someone isn’t pretty -no need to drag fancy furniture around to an anonymous warehouse near the docks to proceed.

Efficiency. Alec does love that word. So simple, yet so few achieve it.

The three men sitting in front of him have all been divested of their clothes, tied down to their own ugly chairs. Alec frowns at that... as much as he is for efficiency, he hopes that he’s not sitting on years old butt sweat.

Because his prisoners are all sweating like pigs thanks to the huge radiators behind their backs. More important, though, is the fact that they’re gagged, blinded by painted goggles and all have noise cancelling headphones on. You could hack one of them in pieces and the others wouldn’t know until the putrefaction smell clued them in.

Alec gets out of his suit jacket and throws it to Andrews, who catches it carefully before folding it over his forearm. On Alec’s side, Isabelle seems too focused on their prisoners to be bothered by the hellish temperature, even if a light sheen of sweat makes her face shiny; her eyes gleam with hatred, her hands sporadically gripping her favored knife.

_Soon._

Magnus doesn’t even spare a look at the three men and directs himself to the table where the prisoners’ belongings are displayed: laptops, tablets, weapons and 5000 dollars in neat stacks -lunch money for Alec and his siblings. All of it was stolen from the hummer when no one could see, when the witnesses were busy panicking.

Well, no need to keep their guest waiting. He gestures to Raj to take the headphones off their heads -just that. Leave them simmer in the dark a bit longer, fear the monster lurking there and _panic_.

“You’re dead,” he announces when Raj is done. “Your hummer was attacked, you were killed by a maniac with a assault rifle and your vehicle was burned down for dramatic, as the Queen’s men often do when they attack someone’s shipment. They do love their bonfire.... Tragic isn’t it? I’m sure that Camille Belcourt will be sorry, wear lots of black for a few days and throw you guys a wake if she’s in the mood.”

It’s all true enough. There’s footage of it all over Youtube and Twitter. Some paid for of course, giving substance to the story but most are genuine videos, filmed by vultures. Hundreds of witnesses and dozens of cops that will swear on their mother's’ head, all saying roughly the same thing. No one paid attention to the hummer before Alec and the other rounded it up. Just another car in the panic and all the time in the world for Jace to kidnapped Belcourt’s lieutenants.

The cops saw the bodies, the pathologists were _encourage_ to confirm their identities and Belcourt is too busy crying over 5 millions turned to smoke to question the reality of the attack.

“That was a day ago,” Alec finishes his little speech. He can see the despair in their posture, the shaking. One of them is openly sobbing. He gestures back to Raj, who puts back the noise cancelling headphones on two of their prisoners.

Alec gets closer and winces at the stench around the men, far more disgusting now that he is near. He steels his resolve, using Simon’s coffin as a torch and Alaric’s guts as a sword to face what has to be done.

The goggles on the man Alec selected to start are sticky with sweat and Alec throws them to the ground. Camille’s henchman blinks in the sudden light, eyes watering. He looks form face to face, hoping, hoping, hoping, what? Help? Support? Compassion?

He finds none and his expression grows grimmer as he tries to shout around the gag in his mouth.

Alec smiles down at him, it’s easy. Simon’s grave, Alaric in a dirty bag, all flashing in his mind in a endless loop. Dark work tonight, dark work indeed. He’s not bothered.

“Do you know who I am? Sorry, stupid question but, manners… Of course you know that I am the man you, and your employer, pissed off. She,” and Alec points at his sister behind him,” is the woman that wants nothing else that to break you -slowly. At least until we decide to move up to your head bitch.”

Obviously, the man tries to plead his case. But the gag holds and Raj hits the back of his head -just a hard slap, the right amount of force to start as a baseline.

“I don’t care about what you did or didn’t do,” Alec declares coldly, tearing the gag out with his hand. Disgusting. “I don’t even care of what you might know.” He pauses, looking back at Magnus, whose deep in their prisoners’ tablets content by now. Alec can’t help but to smile again, this time genuinely. Magnus love maths and accounting but it’s time for the dramatics. “All of what those idiots were carrying will be enough?” he asks his lover.

Magnus doesn’t have time to say his lines that the henchman is babbling. This time, Raj doesn't hits him. A well oiled machine.

They do have _lots_ of practice.

“There is more: She keeps tabs on everyone! On your parents! On the Queen! I can show them to you, please!” the prisoner screams.

The two others prisoners don’t even flinch at his outburst, don’t hear a thing. All they know is fear and scorching heat.

Alec nearly yawns.

“We told you that information isn't what we’re after. And still… you talk. Impressive,” Isabelle sneers, advancing on the man, those huge pumps of hers making so much noise on the smooth cement floor. The man shudders with each of her steps.

 _With reasons,_ Alec thinks. He steps aside and lets Izzy take his place in front of the pitiful man. He can’t really see the expression on her face but it must be a terrible one because their captif pisses himself -literally.

“So that’s what Camille Belcourt’s men are made of,” she murmurs, incredulous. “One might have believed she had better help.”

Alec shrugs and picks the hammer that Cosca has been holding since they entered. Carmichael, on the other side, is playing with a handful of shiny nails.

“Oh! It’s seems that Camille has some business in Europe that we didn’t know about,” Magnus exclaims. “Lots and lots of calls to Italy.”

The Clave is in Italy. So is half a dozen other organisations but still… a secret alliance? That could explain Herondale’s reluctance to retaliate against Belcourt.

Alec feigns to ignore Magnus and hands the hammer to Izzy, who takes it without hesitation. Such an ugly thing in such a beautiful, tiny hand. She’ll always be so small in his mind. Privilege and curse of older siblings, he guesses.

“Now, could you bring the nails? I believe Isabelle here wants to express some anger,” he asks before kissing her cheek lightly.

He turns his back to the scene, confident that Izzy doesn’t need his help to hammer some nails down. No, he has some numbers to crunch himself so he goes and sit near Magnus, mindful of keeping a respectable distance between them.

The screams of pain that follow don’t bother him too much.

 

*

“You’re telling me that killing that one was an accident?” Alec asks, annoyed.

“I couldn’t guess he had a heart condition now, could I?” Jace answers, shrugging… not innocently -because Jace has never been innocent a day in his life- but unconcern.

It’s true they have a last prisoner, but this one can’t be torture too much. Raphael Santiago was, until his funeral two day ago, Belcourt’s second in command. That’s why Alec has been keeping him “safe” from Izzy and Jace’s less than careful hands, unlike the two corpses that he’s looking at right now.

One is riddled with nails, crusty blood everywhere on his skin, some mucking the cement floor underneath his chair. The second, the one Jace apparently killed _by accident_ , is black and blue all over.

_Punched to death._

“Santiago?” Alec asks Raj. The man had a unfortunate panic attack yesterday and they had to uncuff him and take him elsewhere, lest he died suffocated without telling them anything.

“Still in his cell. You want me to fetch him, boss?”

Alec nods absently, before shooing Jace away from his handwork. “Call Izzy will you? I rather we’re all here for this.”

Jace already has his phone out and Alec has to smile at that, at the way his brother just _knows_ before Alec has to ask.

“You have a task for me handsome?” Magnus whispers behind him, as a careful hand sneak on his back -Raj is already gone. Alec groans in relief at the touch, releasing a tension he didn’t know he held.

Alec turns around and before he can think better of it, he kisses Magnus right on the mouth, open mouthed and filthy and his lover laugh in the kiss, before pushing him away. It seems to happens more and more these days, Alec being reckless with their secret while Magnus is the one that has to keep them in check.

“Will that be all, Mr. Lightwood?” Magnus asks cheekily.

“I could use a coffee,” Jace intrudes, a shiteating grin on his face when both Magnus and Alec turn to him to glare. “What? It was misleading.”

“And there goes the mood,” Magnus comments, gold-rimmed eyes rolling dramatically.

“Hum, not to freak you out, but you have two dead bodies right under your nose,” Jace snarks, mournfully looking at the man he used as a punching bag. Not like he’s going to have difficulties finding an other but it must have help, knowing that each blow, each kick to that piece of shit was revenge for Simon.

“With you boys, I have to make do with what I’m handed,” Magnus answers, toeing at the human pincushion with his boot. “This is pretty unsettling but I’m sure I saw something just like it at the MoMA last week.”

Alec laughs, unrestrained.

 

*

The interrogation of Santiago could be going better.

For starters, he’s obviously not as scared as he was when he was tied up naked to one of those plastic chair. Him being in a private cell, unbounded and fed gives him more clarity of mind than his colleagues had. Not even the sight of their bodies seems to stress him more than a quick prayer in spanish.

But the real problem is that he actually surprise them. Hard. The second he’s ungagged he zeroes on Izzy and plead his case, defending that he had nothing to do with Simon’s death...

“Simon and I had a long relationship. Ask Clarissa about a Raphael Santiago… girl hated me, I’m sure she recalls how viciously our mutual dislike shook the ground back in high school.”

Alec frowns. Claiming to be a friend of Si is one thing but assuring that said claim can be confirmed by a person he and Izzy trust? Either Santiago is a professional liar or he is telling the truth.

Isabelle, though, is on the man in a flash, knife biting at his neck.

“You expect me to believe that my husband knew you? You’re Camille’s second!” she snarls at his face, emotions unchecked. Behind her, Raj looks at Alec, asking if he should intervene with a head tilt.

Alec shakes his head. Izzy knows better than to ruin Santiago without permission.

“High school was a long time ago. I worked for _Mr. Belcourt_ long before Cam nested herself in his bed and him in his coffin,” Santiago says with obvious bitterness.

“Clary confirms that she knows him,” Magnus mutters from behind Alec. “Though she denies that you and Simon were on good terms.”

“Our breakup was somewhat explosive.”

Alec winces,  _wrong thing to say_.

Izzy swaps the knife in her left hand and hits Raphael square in the face with a right hook. Jealousy is a dominant trait in both of them… he remembers daydreaming of eviscerating Magnus’ boyfriend Woosley more than once. How he hated the guy… Jace even proposed to get rid of him simply to have Alec regain some cool but… Alec had said no. The kind of no that screamed and begged to be a yes, that tasted foul in his mouth as he said the simple word.

Magnus would have been sad. That had been a shock to realize that he cared more about Magnus’ happiness that his own satisfaction.

“Don’t you fret, it’s not like we were fucking behind your back,” Santiago says, voice a little strained, spitting blood on the ground. Alec can’t help but feel admiratif of the steel the man is made of. “We met again a year ago by chance. We talked and... left the past behind us. He showed me pictures of you and your niña for half an hour. I was _happy_ for him.”

“And Si never mention, _for a year_ , that he was having tea parties with his ex, who’s also happen to be the second in command of our competitor? To his wife? To _me_?” Alec questions, sceptic still.

“Simon was keeping track of Camille. I was a very willing contributor to his research,” Raphael explains. There’s guilt in his voice, in the way his shoulders slump. Guilt and sadness. “I had no idea he was going behind your back.”

“Why betray her?” Magnus demands. When Alec turns towards him, his lover is fiddling with his phone… wait. No. It’s Simon’s phone, as the Star Wars case shows. Alec frowns. That phone was broken beyond repair, Alec saw it at the morgue. Magnus must have kept it for something. As a memento perhaps?

“Mr. Belcourt wasn’t an angel, that’s well known. But he did right by me and mi familia. Cam twisted him around and I couldn’t help him…” Santiago’s voice falters. “I’ve been looking for a way to make her pay ever since.”

“ _SIMON PAID!_ ” Isabelle shouts, putting more pressure on the blade she’s holding to Santiago’s throat. He bleed and a thin drop of blood runs along his neck.

“Cam didn’t kill Simon. She didn’t know about him. Then suddenly words on the street that she shoot him full of bullets. She’s scared as shit, waiting for a death squad from your precious Clave everyday!” Santiago shouts back.

Raphael quick words are met with stunned silence. Isabelle’s so shocked that she lowers the knife, stepping away from the tied up man like _he_ punched her. She glances at Alec, frowning.

“I don’t believe you,” Alec says finally.

“Then don’t. But for once, I trust her. She had nothing to gain by killing your husband,” he says, looking at Isabelle. “Her territory doesn’t touch yours and attacking you would be folly…”

“She knew the Clave would stall,” Isabelle says without too much conviction. Alec winces. That’s… improbable.

“The Cave isn’t know for that kind of restrain,” Santiago laughs hysterically, voicing what they all know. “I told you, when the rumor started, we expected death raging down on us from the Garroways and the Lightwoods both.”

“And Alaric? Did she kill him?” Jace enquires.

“Garroway’s second? The guy wasn’t on our radar before the Queen sends a congratulation note to Cam for her sense of humor.”

“Humor?”

“You know… you didn’t attack, so… well,” Santiago winces, "everyone was whispering that you’re all gutless…”

“Ah. Told you she was poking fun at us,” Magnus grumbles humorlessly.

“She didn’t do that!” Santiago repeats. “But the Queen knew about it the moment it happened. Seems to be under the impression that Camille was stepping her game and hunting your lot.”

Alec closes his eyes a second.

All this, it’s doesn’t make sense… unless.

Unless someone’s been pitting New York top crime families against the others. Exactly as _he_ did, framing the Queen for attacking Belcourt on the bridge.

Simon’s death was sweep under a rug and Herondale forced them to wait, something that no fucking one could have saw coming, that defies logic and any precedent. So Alaric’s murder was to push them again, try to get a rise. Still no response.

Then Alec goes and make it worse, killing Belcourt’s lieutenants, destroying her drugs under the Queen’s m.o..

It could be her, trying to take the Manhattan based gangs, the upper crust as she calls them, without having to engage in a dangerous territory war herself. Make them fight to the death and pick up the pieces… she’s shrewd enough for it, that’s for sure.

But.

But it doesn’t explains Herondale’s interdiction. What if the Clave organized all this? That too, doesn’t fit. Why try to destroy something so damn lucratif? Something that they have absolute control over?

Alec can’t make sense of it. There's something else at the back of his mind, something that he can't quite work out.

“Alec?” Magnus calls his name.

“Hmm?” he reopens his eyes and realises that everyone is looking at him worriedly.

Jace is the one that steps in front of him and unclench his hands from around the knife he is holding. Alec doesn’t remember unsheathing his knife or playing around with it. His left palm is bloody.

Shit. He must have cut himself.

“You’re okay?” Izzy asks. She’s not holding her knife anymore and Santiago is standing between Raj and Cosca, free.

“Keep him in the cell for now,” he orders them, trying to look collected, for his bodyguards and Santiago’s eyes. “He’s a guest for now, so treat him as such.”

The two bodyguards exit the room with Santigo, leaving Alec with his siblings and Magnus in the large room.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s _no_ ,” Magnus tells him, jaw working tensely as he stomps in front of him, stopping him from leaving.

Alec glares at him -he’ll regret it later, but he has work to do, he can’t just play it safe.

“Am I missing something?” Jace asks Izzy.

“Your brother is thinking about something stupid, I just can tell,” Magnus explains. Alec tries to be annoyed at Magnus for this, for knowing him so well but he can’t. So he just get around him and walks toward the warehouse’s entrance, ignoring the outraged face his lover makes at this.

“I need to talk to Camille Belcourt,” Alec announces. He doesn’t miss the way the words make the three others flinch. “So we have a party to plan.”

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t let Jace, Izzy or Magnus’ shouts stop him. Usually those decisions are taken as a group but he can’t afford that right now.

That weight is on his shoulders and he will carry it around until he can _bury_ it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ElodieGuillo/)

**Author's Note:**

> If you loved it, kudos and comments are ALWAYS a good way to show it, or consider buying me a [coffee](http://ko-fi.com/theleftboobgrabber/)!
> 
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